


"Distracted" or "How not to behave when captured by deserters"

by Foolsparsley (Freckleberg)



Series: Contact [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (Very tame) Magic-BDSM, Alpha Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Banter, F/M, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, Just a hint of Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia / Jaskier | Dandelion, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckleberg/pseuds/Foolsparsley
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are taken prisoner, only to find Yennefer is one of their captors. Banter, angst, smut, fluff, and some light magic-sex-torture ensue.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Contact [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850092
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	"Distracted" or "How not to behave when captured by deserters"

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to set this somewhere in canon, I'd say it's early in Geralt and Yennefer's history (shortly after "Bottled Appetites" and a while before "Rare Species"). For my little series of one-shots "Contact", that attempts to fill in some of the history of this tumultuous pair. I had intended to write some light Geralt/Yennefer smut, but some angst found its way in there! Oh, these two. Also, had to put in Jaskier banter because Jaskier is love. Oh, those three! A warning for some (very!) light magic-BDSM. Pretty tame.

"Is this how it ends?" Geralt heard Jaskier's voice, distorted as if underwater, swirling about him as he regained consciousness. "Will this be the last of our great tales?"

Geralt concentrated, clearing his mind, regaining control over his senses. He tried to open his eyes, but could not - he was blindfolded with a thick, rough cloth. He could tell he was seated on a low bench, and bound, hands behind him and ankles bound in front. He focused his other senses, forming a hazy image of his surroundings so he could see without sight, the way he had been trained to. He could hear Jaskier breathing a few feet away - presumably bound and blindfolded too. Nearby he smelt burning oil in a glass lamp, scraps of meat leftover from a meal, he heard the soft slap of canvass tent flaps and felt a cool wind blow from outside bringing with it the sound of soldiers boots trudging on soft dirt, the crackle of cooking fires, and the hum of insects at twilight. Further away, he heard a familiar whinny and neigh, and smelt the grassy musk of his horse, Roach, stabled nearby. 

So, they were in a small military encampment - with perhaps fifty or sixty men outside. He and Jaskier were being held captive, inside a large, high vaulted tent, perhaps the kind used by a high ranking officer. They were not alone inside either: based on the sound of the shuffling heavy tunics and the stench of unwashed armpits, Geralt guessed there were six men guarding them.

"Tell me, gods, this isn't how it ends," Jaskier moaned again, melodramatically.

"At least you're having fun," Geralt replied.

Jaskier whipped his head around, looking up, to the left, then the right, trying to discern where the voice came from. "Geralt! You're here! You're alive," he said. "I can't see you, I've been blindfol--" Jaskier stopped speaking abruptly, and Geralt heard the sound of a gloved fist colliding with the bard's jaw. Jaskier yelped and spat out a dribble of blood, having bitten his tongue. 

"It f'ckin will be how it ends," one of their captors barked. Geralt could smell foul meat and alcohol on the soldier's breath, he was no more than an arms' length away. Geralt tried to move his feet a little, testing the strength of the cords that bound him. If he was quick, he could probably twist around and lunge with his hands still behind his back to get a hold of the solider's sword, sever the bindings on his ankles, pivot and slice the man in half as he did, and then toss the blade up and cut the cords on his wrists as it fell. But even if he could, one of the other five men would probably slaughter Jaskier before Geralt could kill them all. No, a violent escape wasn't an option. 

The man with the foul breath was speaking again. "Y'know what we do with spies like you?" he asked Jaskier, bending low to spray his meat breath on the bard. "We torture 'em, we cut out their eyes, and then we kill 'em." 

"We're not spies," Geralt said. "I'm a witcher. I was hired by the alderman of Hoarton to slay a Leshen." He remembered now, he had been contracted to hunt a beast in the woods, Jaskier had followed, uninvited as usual. They'd been ambushed. Must have been knocked out and brought here. 

"A witcher?" the man asked, skeptical. "What about this one then?" he asked, referring to Jaskier. Geralt heard a dull thud and the exhalation of air, as the soldier kicked Jaskier in the gut with his boot. Jaskier slumped forward with a groan. "What's he?"

"An annoyance," said Geralt.

"A ... bard," said Jaskier, through labored breaths. "Julian Alfred Pankratz, I'm sure you've ... heard of my tales of the White Wolf." Geralt was almost impressed: even with a swollen tongue and a boot to the gut, Jaskier was still promoting himself. 

A new sound captured Geralt's attention - footfalls approaching the tent. Three men in soldiers' boots, one wearing clinking plate armor - presumably the leader of sorts. But there was someone else with them: softer footfalls, smaller feet, in heeled boots; the rustle of long, soft curls, brushing against bare shoulders; and a scent, quite different from the sweat and stench of the camp, of sweet spring flowers, and tart fruits. As the tent flaps were thrust open and the party entered, Geralt realized who it was.

"Oh fuck," he cursed.

"Wait, what?" asked Jaskier in alarm, flicking his head from side to side, trying to see, despite his blindfold, what had disturbed the witcher. "Geralt what's happening? Fuck, what fuck?"

"Shut it, spies," said one of the soldiers "Commander's here." The men yanked off Geralt's blindfold, and Jaskier's too, so they could see the new arrivals: three men, two foot-soldiers, and their leader, a man in resplendent bronze plated armor, slightly worn and dented around the joinings. And with them, a sorceress: Yennefer of Vengerberg. 

"Oh fuck," Jaskier said. 

Yennefer cast a fleeting, sidelong glance at them, her sparkling violet gaze meeting Geralt's for just a moment, the hint of a playful smile on her lips, before turning her attention back to the Commander without acknowledging them. Geralt felt a sharp pain in his chest, as his slow heartbeat swelled with a defining thud to bash against his ribs; his blood ran hot within his veins as if he had just swallowed a potion. _What was she doing here?_ he thought. She was so out of place in this muddy pathetic camp among these rough men, like a midnight black swan, in the midst of a herd of grey swamp ducks. Her hair, long and thick, fell in perfect soft waves over her bare shoulders. She wore long black gloves that wrapped around her slender arms like elixir, stopping just above the elbow to leave her upper arms uncovered. Geralt had seen her completely naked many times, and yet somehow the sight of just this little bit of bare skin was still intoxicating. She wore a tight black corset that pushed up her breasts - the corset laces down the front straining with the effort to hold them in - and black riding pants that gripped her thighs and calves. No tailor could make a garment fit that well, only magic could. Geralt's eyes traced over every inch of her body, soaking her in like a thirsty man would drink water in a desert. He lingered on her face, transfixed by the golden glow of her skin and the soft pink of her mouth: he could feel his rough hands against that skin, his scarred palm against the soft of her cheek, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip; a memory of the last time he had seen her, mixing with desire for what he wanted now. 

The Commander was oblivious to this exchange. "You're right to be scared, spies," he said. "For I am Commander Lodvin, formerly of the Aedernian third regiment. Now, I lead these men, and soon we will raise an army to overthrow the vile and weak King Demavend and bring glory back to these lands!" Geralt rolled his eyes. _Great, deserters and a pretend king_ , he thought. _Just the kind of shit we don't want to get mixed up in._ The Commander continued: "but you knew all that already, didn't you, spies? You were sent by King Demavend, weren't you?"

"Are you all deaf, or just stupid?" asked Jaskier. "We aren't spies, and we don't care about your petty local squabbles. This is Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, slayer of beasts, and defender of man. So you better let us go you fat, stinking, twats, before he slaughters you all and feeds the plump pieces to a kikimore. Right, Geralt?" asked the bard, adding as an aside to Geralt in a low voice, "was that a bit too graphic? Just right?"

"Shut it," the Commander snarled. He swung a backhand at the bard, his metal glove making a sickening crack as it collided with Jaskier's skull. Jaskier fell backward and hit the ground with a thud, a little trickle of blood pooling beneath his head. Yennefer sucked in a sharp breath, unable to hide her shock. Geralt caught her gaze as she pulled her eyes away from Jaskier and projected his thoughts as loudly and clearly as he could, hoping she was listening. _Jaskier's alright,_ he thought. _I can hear him. He's breathing, heartbeat steady. He's just unconscious. The blood isn't serious - the wound's only skin deep._

Yennefer stared intently back at him, as gave a small, almost imperceptible, nod. 

"Faaak," the Commander cursed, shaking his hand against the sting of the impact. "Take that one away," he said, gesturing at Jaskier's lifeless body. "Chain him up by the latrines until he comes to. Then bring the tools so we can torture the other one." The men nodded, two of them lumbering forward to lift the limp Jaskier up under his armpits. Jaskier groaned and gurgled a little as they dragged him away, outside the tent. 

Geralt continued to hold Yennefer's gaze, unobserved by their captors. _Care to help me out here?_ He thought at her. 

Yennefer turned suddenly, placing her gloved hand gingerly on the Commander's shoulder and staring up into his beady black eyes. "Commander," she said, her tone sickly sweet and full of flattery. "While I'm sure your men are gruesome torturers, might I suggest a different method of obtaining the information you desire?" The Commander looked at her, intrigued. What man could resist listening to her, Geralt thought, when she was that close, lavishing attention on him, her voice, warm and thick like caramel and her eyes, intoxicating like a violet sky at dusk. "There are certain _dark_ magic spells that can be used," she said, trailing her slender fingers along his shoulder, up to his neck. "A mage can procure information, that a man cannot. This is the kind of thing a king might call on his mage for, the kind of thing you will do when you are the King of Aedern."

Her flattery worked on the Commander, as it did most men. "Yes," he said, slowly. "Yes. I'll have my mage interrogate the spy. Yes, I decree it." 

"Excellent," Yennefer said. "Only, I'll need complete privacy. These dark spells - it's forbidden magic - I must work alone. You understand, my liege... " 

The Commander hesitated, his eyes darting from Yennefer, to Geralt, to his men watching him. Geralt could see he didn't want to leave but he didn't want to appear uncertain or un-worldly either. He wanted to play the part of a true king, who knew how magic worked. "Uh, yes, of course. Yes," he said. "Come, men, leave at once. This kind of dark magic, it's forbidden," he said. The soldiers shrugged, skeptical but not about to defy an order, and trudged out of the tent. The Commander followed them, turning to pause briefly at the entrance. "Sorceress, once you are finished with your work, come report to me in my quarters," and then he added, in what he presumably thought was a low, inciting growl, "I'll be waiting for you."

Yennefer forced a smile as he left. Geralt chuckled quietly. "Sounds like you have quite the evening ahead of you," he said. 

Yennefer crossed the room without looking at him and pulled the tent flap firmly shut. "Be quiet," she hissed. "There are still two guards just outside."

Geralt strained to turn around and see her, but he was bound too tightly. He could just see her outline from the corner of his eye: back turned to him, arms folded, the light of the lamp flickering in the tent, accentuating the shadows of her curves. "What are you doing here anyway, Yen?" he asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" she said, stalking back across the room and draping herself over a rickety dining table just in front of him, still without meeting his gaze. "I've found a true lord to follow. I believe in Commander Lodvin and when he overthrows King Demavend, it will be my honor to serve at his side, as his mage."

Geralt covered a growl of jealousy with a forced laugh. "You can't be serious," he said.

Her eyes darted towards him then, staring intently as if to burn through him with her fiery glare alone. "Of course I'm not," she scowled. "I'm not a fool." She picked up a silver carving knife from the table she reclined on, and spun it between her fingers, watching it glitter. "Gold, Geralt. Commander Lodvin has a small war chest, and he's inclined to spend it on having the trappings of a real king, including a mage advisor. He thinks it will make him seem more legitimate and help in raising an army." 

Geralt relaxed a little, his misplaced jealousy subsiding in his stomach. "Yen, I'm no stranger to working for coin, but you deserve better than this," he said.

Yennefer suddenly threw the silver knife she was holding towards him. The blade - guided by her magic- grazed his cheek before lodging in a tentpole behind him. "Oh, now you care what I deserve?" she snapped.

Her words stung him more than the graze from the blade. He thought about the last time he had seen her - in truth he had thought of it every night since. _The six weeks they spent together in Pontaria: by day, she selling spells and he taking small contracts to earn a little coin, which they spent on strong wine and soft cheese, scented candles and silk sheets, and by night, soaking in a warm bath or making love by the fire. It felt like a dream - like a literal fantasy, snatched from some other realm - a life that didn't belong to him. That last night they were together, while she slept - her skin glinting like amber in the moonlight as she lay naked beside him - he lay awake, a gnawing, biting dread eating at his bones. Witchers weren't meant to live like this. They weren't supposed to get attached. It was dangerous to become entangled, to become tied to another being. It could lead him away from the Path. It could be used against him. It could put her in danger. Besides, what kind of life could he offer her? She was a sorceress, she belonged in a castle at court, surrounded by nobles and luxury. All he had was a hard bed on the cold ground beside his horse, and whatever his latest kill could afford them. Better to leave now, save the pain that would inevitably befall them both._

"I told you, I had a contract for a werewolf in Va'en," he said quietly. "You knew I'd have to go and deal with it eventually."

"So you just leave, before sunrise, without a word?" she hissed. She was sitting up now, every muscle in her body taut, like an animal gearing up to strike. Her eyes, sometimes so light and soft, had turned into blue-grey storm clouds, ready to unleash the fury of the heavens upon him. "How was I to know where you had gone?" she asked. "Or if you'd ever return."

"Two days I was gone!" Geralt growled, "from sunrise to sunset, barely two days. I looked for you when I returned and you were nowhere to be found. You had disappeared!" 

"I had business elsewhere," she said, spitting the words out at him. "I have my own concerns to attend to, witcher. Do not make the mistake of thinking that I care about your whereabouts, or your comings and goings."

Geralt strained against the bindings still on his arms and ankles. He wanted to tear them off and break everything in sight, just to express a little of the turmoil she made him feel. "Fuck, Yen, what do you want from me?" he shouted. "You always have to be right, you always have to control everything. You only want us together if it's on your terms." 

"Oh and it should be on yours?" she shouted back. She gripped the sides of the table so tightly her fingers turned white, as if she intended to splinter the wood with her bare hands. "I lived many decades before I met you," she said, "on _my_ terms. I am not about to change that for you or anyone else."

"I'm not asking you to!" he cried, "I just - I just want -" he faltered, chest heaving, breath heavy, his heart thrashing against his ribs again. He didn't know what to say. He didn't yet understand himself what he wanted. He only knew that he wanted _her_. Not lustfully - though there was that too - but just to be around her, to be near her, to know where she was by day and have her return to his arms at night. He wanted her so fiercely it hurt, like a poison coursing through his veins. It was a feeling that scared him, unlike anything he had felt before. A feeling he could neither control nor suppress.

Yennefer leaned back, her eyes staring up at the vaulted tent sealing, glistening like dewdrops "Geralt, don't -" she said, "Just don't speak." She sighed, and closed her eyes, seemingly lost in her own swirling thoughts. 

"Yen..." he murmured. How could it be, he thought, that every time he saw her, he spoke a thousand words and yet could never say exactly what he meant? 

She laughed - a soft, warm laugh - the anger fading from her voice. "No, I mean, because of the soldiers outside," she said. "If you keep wailing at me like a scorned maiden, they'll get suspicious." 

"Oh," said Geralt. He had entirely forgotten where they were, and that there were men just outside that expected he was being tortured and killed. "Right that."

They sat quietly for a moment - he, still bound on the low wooden bench, she, leaning back on her elbows on the table in front of him. He couldn't look away from her. She was intoxicating. Beautiful, yes, but more than that. She exuded a kind of energy, something strong, and ancient, and powerful. It was impossible not to be drawn to her. She was watching him intently too, her eyes tracing across his body, from his mouth, down his neck, to his slightly open shirt, and across his arms. He sat up a little straighter and flexed his chest muscles: it was a powerful feeling, drawing her attention. 

A playful smile flickered across her lips as she saw him move. Sparks crackled in the air between them. Still reclining on the table in front of him, she slowly started to ease off one of her long black gloves, keeping her eyes fixed on his mouth as she did so. He felt desire flooding his body, heat rising under her gaze. He wanted nothing more than to feel the touch of her soft hands; her mouth on his; her body against him. She pulled off the other glove and let it fall to the floor, then she slipped off the table and paced over to him, a mountain lion stalking towards its prey. Geralt said nothing, but he kept his eyes on hers, silently coaxing her to continue. She stopped just in front of where he sat, her breasts at his eye level. He would only need to lean forward a little, to catch the laces of her corset in his teeth, and pull it undone. She bent lower so their eyes were level, putting one hand on his chest and the other behind his head, tangling her fingers in his long white hair and pulling back slightly so he felt a sharp twinge of pain at the base of his skull. "Could you scream a little," she asked. "Or moan a bit?"

"Well, that depends," he said, his voice even lower and rougher than usual. "On what you're going to do to me, and if you to keep your clothes on." 

She laughed again. "I meant, could you at least make it _sound_ like I'm torturing you?" she asked. "Pretend you're in pain, so as not to arouse suspicion, while I think of how we're going rescue Jaskier and escape?" 

"Oh, err," he shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. Pretending to be in pain wasn't a skill he'd been taught in Kaer Morhen. "Umm, 'ahh!'" he tried, unconvincingly. "Ahh, oh no, ouch."

Yennefer rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I'm going to agree with Jaskier, but you really can't act can you?" she said. "Here, I'll help you."

She pushed aside his shirt, to put her bare palm on his chest, over his heart. Then there was a sudden flash of light and he felt a bolt of intense, searing pain shoot through his entire body. He cried out, in pain and shock, the air rushing out of his lungs as if forced out by the energy coursing through his veins. As suddenly as it came, the searing pain stopped. 

"Yennefer, what the fuck was that," he gasped, sucking air back into his lungs.

"Just a small lightning bolt," she said, smiling playfully as if she had done nothing more than give him a little pinch.

Black spots danced and exploded behind his eyelids, even now that the pain had subsided. "Warn me before you're going to do that," he said.

"Then you wouldn't be convincing," she said. She spread out her fingers and ran her hand over his bare skin from his chest towards his collar bone, sending a little flurry of painful sparks shooting through his shoulders to his arms.

"Ah, ow, fuck!" Geralt cursed.

Yennefer laughed, her eyes sparkling with delight at her own power. Suddenly, she grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him towards her and kissed him roughly. Her lips were hot, her breath sweet, her hands grabbing and pulling at him clumsily. Any spark of pain was instantly erased from Geralt's mind: all he could feel was a hot wave of desire flood through him. She bit down on his bottom lip, kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw. She tangled both her hands in his hair, pulling at the roots. He growled at her, and she pulled back for air, breathing heavily, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in her fingertips. 

"Inflicting pain excites you?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, though with anger or desire he couldn't tell himself.

"You hurt me, so I hurt you," she said. She moved to straddle him, one knee on either side of the bench on which he was still bound, her thighs pressed against his own. "Besides," she said, grinding her body against his, so he couldn't hide his desire for her. "Seems like a little pain excites you too."

His body coursed with fire everywhere she touched him. She moved against him like an ocean swell - wild, powerful, untamable - her thighs pressed against his cock, her breasts against his chest, her mouth hot, hungry, against his own. He pulled against the ropes that still bound his hands behind his back, desperate to break free so he could grab her, tear her clothes off, and pull her against him until she screamed in ecstasy. "Release me," he growled at her.

Without pausing, she reached over his shoulder and shot a bolt of light from her fingertips, searing through the ropes on his wrists and ankles, and shocking him again in the process. "Ow, fuck!" he cried.

"Torture, Geralt," she said, breathlessly. "Remember, this is supposed to be torture."

"You _are_ torture," he said. Hands finally free, he grabbed her - one hand on her arse and one on the back of her neck. He felt a powerful need to possess her, to tame this most untamable sorceress, to hold her in his hands so she couldn't escape him again. He pulled his mouth away from hers and bent to grab the laces on her corset with his teeth, pulling back sharply to tear the top few loops to shreds.

"Geralt," she chided, "I liked that corset."

He moved his hand from her neck to her chest, pulling aside the half-torn fabric to expose her breasts. "I like this better," he said. 

She grasped the front of his shirt in her fists and the fabric disappeared in a shower of magic sparks, exposing his bare, scarred chest. "Fairs, fair," she said. Geralt didn't reply - he didn't have the sense left for words. The only thought in his mind was blind desire. He roughly took one of her breasts in his hand, brushing his thumb across her nipple, and took the other in his mouth, flicking her with his tongue. She gasped and pushed her body down against his cock, sending waves of pleasure through him. 

She put a hang on his chest again, digging her nails into his skin and sending another jolt of lightning through his body, only this time it didn't hurt. This time, it felt like pure desire, pure adrenaline, pure magic, coursing through every fiber of his being. "Fuck, Yen," he said.

"I know," she gasped, her breath hot against his ear.

Suddenly, there was a shout from the tent entrance behind them, as the tent flaps flew open and the two soldiers who had been keeping guard outside stumbled in. "Oi, what the fuck?" one of them barked. The men looked more confused than anything - finding their Commander's mage in a state of undress, straddling the now bare-chested prisoner she was supposed to be torturing. 

"Fuck," Geralt and Yennefer said in the same breath.

They sprung apart: she pulled her torn blouse roughly back into place, as he snatched his two swords from beneath the Commander's table. The two soldiers gathered their wits and charged at them. Geralt held his steel sword, still sheathed, like a spear and thrust the heavy hilt towards one of the advancing men. It collided with the soldier's skull with a crack, sending him stumbling backward and crashing to the ground, unconscious. Geralt turned, reading to slay the other man before he reached Yennefer, but she had already thrust her hand out, a dark black cloud billowing from her fingers and engulfing her attacker, sending him into convulsions. "Nicely done witcher," she said.

"You too," he said. "Just make sure to let him live, Yen."

She frowned, but ceased her spell none the less, leaving the soldier twitching but alive.

"I think it's time we left," said Geralt.

"Agreed," Yennefer said. "I'll permit you to escort me elsewhere". 

"Oh, you'll permit me, will you?" he asked. He pulled her against him one last time, his bare chest pressed against her, one hand still holding his sword at the ready and the other tightly grasping her waist, and kissed her. When she kissed him back, he could taste little sparks of magic still coursing through her body, exploding like tiny stars. Then they broke apart and barreled out of the tent together. They ran towards the stables on the edge of the camp, ducking and weaving around tents and crates of supplies. Geralt could hear a rising commotion behind them - their escape must have been heard by other men nearby, and they were coming to the officer's tent to investigate. Once they found the prisoner and the mage gone, and two soldiers unconscious inside, they'd raise the alarm. Geralt and Yennefer had a thin headstart, but they'd need every second to escape. As they cleared the tents, the stables just ahead of them, Geralt suddenly slid to a halt, catching Yennefer's wrist and pulling her back. 

"Fuck, Jaskier," he cursed. They'd forgotten the bard - dragged away by the soldiers and probably still held captive by the latrines.

Yennefer frowned. "Are you sure we have to go back for him?" she asked.

Geralt rolled his eyes at her and didn't bother to reply. He turned and ran back into the camp, pulling Yennefer with him, just as shouts of alarm started to echo around them - their escape had been discovered. They hurried towards the stench of the latrines and found Jaskier, conscious again, haplessly shaking the lock on the metal animal cage he was held in. 

"Geralt!" he cried. "Old friend! Brave savior! I knew you would come for me. Never a doubt in my mind. Well, maybe just a little doubt - fleeting, really - but never mind that now. You're here. All - er - all shirtless and sweaty and heroic." He frowned at Yennefer "Why are you here?" he asked.

"Against my objections, we're here to save you," Yennefer said.

"Oh ho," Jaskier laughed. "You, help anyone but yourself? I doubt that."

"Shut up, both of you," Geralt growled, unsheathing his steel sword. "Jaskier, get back," he barked.

Jaskier pressed himself as far back in the little metal cage as he could, as Geralt swung his steel sword down against the lock on the cage, slicing it clean in two. Jaskier pushed open the cage door and stumbled out, moving to embrace Geralt, who side-stepped him and instead grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him forward towards the stables. "Move, now!" Geralt growled.

The three of them raced back to the stables, the shouts of the soldiers and the clatter of weapons being gathered growing louder behind them. As they reached the horses, Yennefer swiftly untied Roach and led her to the stable gate, while Geralt readied a little gray colt for Jaskier. Jaskier paused, looking back and forth between Geralt and Yennefer, his eyes narrow, scrutinizing them. "Hang on, Geralt," he said. "What happened to your shirt...? Why's her blouse torn open...? Why are you both all disheveled and flushed..." he asked.

Yennefer shot Jaskier a self-satisfied smirk and pulled her corset strings closed again to keep her breasts covered, before hoisting herself up and on to Roach's back. "Jealousy is unbecoming, Jasiker," she chided. "It was my turn to tame the White Wolf."

Jaskier's eyes widened in shock and horror. "Oh ho no no no. You two weren't - you can't - no seriously? Here? Now! It's hardly the time!" 

"It's hardly the time to stop and gossip," Geralt growled. He grabbed Jaskier by the back of his tunic and roughly threw the bard onto the back of the little grey colt, before grabbing Roach's mane and pulling himself onto her back behind Yennefer. "Ride, damn it!" he barked. Jaskier did as instructed, kicking his heels into his horse's belly and taking off at a canter, as Geralt gave Roach a little kick, and she took off too.

The two horses flew out of the stable gates, just as the Commander and his guards arrived, the soldiers diving out of the way of the bolting steeds. The men scurried to regroup and give chase, scrambling for spears and arrows, some stumbling into the stables to attempt to mount their own horses. A few of the quicker men managed to get off a little volley of arrows. Geralt turned to deflect them with his sword, swinging the blade behind him with one hand while holding Roach's reigns in the other.

"Hold still, I'll deal with them," Yennefer said, arching back, one hand outstretched over Geralt's shoulder, to cast a spell back towards the camp. There was a loud crack, as all at once the dozen cooking fires in the camp exploded, sending sparks flying in all directions. Embers quickly engulfed the tents, aided by a magic gust of wind, flames quickly catching and spreading, causing little explosions as they set alight gas lamps and powder kegs of flammable herbs. Chaos erupted as men rushed to try and put out the fires and take cover from falling debris. The men who had been firing at them and preparing to give chase were quickly swept away in the confusion. They faded into the distance, as the escapees rode deeper into the forest.

When they were well outside of the encampment, Geralt motioned for Jasiker to slow, and the horses calmed from a gallop to a canter. "If we ride steadily on this path, we can make it to Hoarton before midnight," Geralt said, his mind mapping the way before them, assessing the speed of the horses and the terrane of the forest road ahead. "This road leads directly there. We can rest at the inn till sunrise."

Yennefer, still tucked in front of him on his horse, pressed her back firmly against his bare chest and looked up, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "Perhaps we can pick up where we left off," she said. "I promise to be gentle this time."

"Gods, please, no," Jaskier moaned. "Spare me the details," he said. Then, his eyes widening with excitement, he exclaimed: "Wait, no - tell me the details! The captor becomes the conquered, the prisoner the pursuer. Oh, this has the makings of a good tale. _'Seduction of the Spy'_ ," he said. "No wait, _'TheTemptress Torturer'._ Now that's a story! Quickly, give me the details so I can compose the ballad." 

Geralt pressed his lips Yennefer's neck, blowing a soft breath along her skin and delighting as she shivered against him. He knew this moment was fleeting; that they would inevitably be entangled again in shouting and hurt and un-namable emotions. But that hardly mattered now. Tonight, at least, she was his, and that was enough. 

"Sorry Jaskier, not tonight," Geralt said. He slipped one arm firmly around Yennefer's waist and gave Roach a little kick so she broke into a gallop, leaving Jaskier in the dust behind them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it. Comments are love.


End file.
